the infamous drunk dial.
there are two types of people in this world: people who drunk dial and liars.
the best part of drunk dials is that you may not even have any recollection of the call short of the the call log history. It’s not like a text, you can’t go back and read it.
oh, I am laughing so hard.
I’m the worst when it comes to this. I will drunk text you, I will drunk dial you, I will drunk snap you.
here’s the thing about drunk dials. They’re almost always to people you loved, love, or feel some type of way about.
anyways, here are some drunk dial stories from my beloved friends:
my friend, who refused to let me publish this unless I referred to him as Pericles…has been talking to this girl. We will call her Aspasia, I guess. Aspasia, you inspired today’s blog post. Congratulations.
I’ve been hearing all about Aspasia and the emotional roller coaster she is putting Pericles on. (this is ridiculous, “Pericles”). She’s one of those “I really like you, and I enjoy this thing we have going here, but I don’t want to put a label on anything, I don’t want to commit to just you” kind of people. Which is totally chill, I totally understand. However, it’s all but driving Pericles off the edge.
so Aspasia went away for a wedding, which is a whole other story in and of itself, but she wound up drunk dialing Pericles Thursday night with a whirlwind of emotional vomit.
all this talk of missing Pericles, wanting to see Pericles, things Pericles really needed to hear. And then she sobered up a little, or felt safe enough under her wine-stained security blanket anyways, and took every word back.
“ignore me, I’m drunk.”
drunk words are sober thoughts, my darling.
my favorite personal offense:
I called Timothy six times in a row after an enthusiastic thirsty Thursday (I go out on Thursdays too often), and when he called back I answered
“hello?” accusingly, like he had no right.
“are you okay?”
“why are you calling me?” with the most disgusted and confused tone I could muster.
“you called me.”
“no I didn’t.” Knowing damn well I had called him more times than most people call home in a month.
we talked for another minute about god knows what and hung up. I think I wanted him to come out with me. I ended up walking home and falling asleep before 10 PM.
which brings us to the next story:
when the drunk dial surpassed “dial” and became “doorbell.”
my dear friend, like a brother to me, really, Tim (not to be confused with Timothy, they happen to share the same first name in real life, though) dated a girl we will call Eva. Eva was batshit, k? Like, she hit a new level of crazy, and Tim has dated some wild girls.
I really don’t, the point of this story is how absolutely insane this girl was.
this girl drunk dialed Tim like, oh I don’t know, twenty times? a week after their break up one night. Tim didn’t answer because he already knew that acknowledging her behavior when she got this way was slippery slope. It was best to ignore for his own safety. Eva had already broken a beer glass on his face a few months prior, enough is enough.
Eva wasn’t having it. She convinced the security guard to let her into Tim’s building at 3 am.
Eva was blood thirsty. She pounded on Tim’s door for 15 minutes. Tim watched from the peephole, but didn’t think once to open the door.
they didn’t speak again after that.
I think the moral of this story is that you can drunk dial all you want, and you will be forgiven. Everybody does it. Just don’t show up at people’s doors unannounced. That’s damaging.
Thanks to “Pericles” (we’re going to have to have a talk about whether this stays or not) and “Tim” for letting me share their stories! Much love always to both of you.